


The Probability of Dean Winchester’s Butchering of the Romantic Holiday and His Likely Subsequent Death by Pneumonia

by silenceofafallingstar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Freaks Out, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, but it's all good, oh god so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceofafallingstar/pseuds/silenceofafallingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was there, then? Why did this have to be so hard? Cas was probably having no trouble with this right now. He had most likely already planned his whatever, like, a week ago, and was curled up in his favorite armchair (the one with the green stripes) reading Victorian literature and drinking tea. Why did he have to be so awesome? With his perpetual sex hair and the gorgeous magical wells of deep blue in his face that were probably doorways to another universe or maybe just universes themselves-</p>
<p>Okay, Dean, focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Probability of Dean Winchester’s Butchering of the Romantic Holiday and His Likely Subsequent Death by Pneumonia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my gorgeous valentine Erica <3
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

Dean was frantically pacing back and forth, barely listening to the tinny voice of reason (A.K.A Sam calling from California) in his ear. 

“Dude, calm down. It’s not a big deal. I mean, you hardly know the guy, you just met him like three months ago. Sure, it’s your first Valentine’s Day together. That doesn’t mean it’s Armageddon. Just get him some flowers and a card or somethi-”

“Sam!” Dean was practically yelling now. “It’s not that simple at all! Cas is, like, the coolest of cool guys. I mean, sure, he’s a little weird. But he’s—he’s Cas, I can’t just chuck something stereotypical at him. Cards are so boring! And lovey-dovey! Cas isn’t boring or lovey-dovey! When the fuck did this get so complicated? It was supposed to be fast and dirty—pick the dark mysterious demi-god of hotness up at the bar, get him a bit drunk, a bit horny, and then wham-bam the patented Dean Winchester Incredible Night of Sex and then maybe some cuddling and then perhaps the Dean Winchester Incredible Morning of Se-”

“Woah, Dean, too much information. And volume. I think my ears are bleeding, from which I’m not sure. I’m being serious here. Do what you want. Don’t get him a card, shout his name from the rooftops, make an undying declaration of love on live television, do whatever. I. Don’t. Care. Just stop freaking out about it.”

-click-

“Saaam? Sam! SAM!!! GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.” Dean slammed the phone down onto the kitchen table, muttering about merciless brothers who were the lamest of the lame and plus needed haircuts and wouldn’t be getting good birthday presents this year. What the fuck was he going to do now? Valentine’s Day was tomorrow and Cas would no doubt have something amazing planned and Dean would have nothing and Cas would be disappointed and hurt and he would think Dean didn’t lov-LIKE him and he would break up with him and Dean would go back to being forever alone in his small apartment, living a life briefly punctuated by one night stands and trips to the coffee shop and he would probably lose his job because of all of the wallowing in misery and caffeine overdose and then he would lose the apartment and end up homeless and destitute and one day Cas would see him begging on the side of the road in the rain and say to his new recently-acquired significant other—who gave fantastic Valentine’s Day presents—with an air of distaste, “That’s the man I thought cared about me, but I guess I was wrong. I hope he dies of pneumonia,” and then Dean would actually die of pneumonia and the only one to mourn him would be his little brother whose hair was fucking long and who didn’t care enough to help him out in his time of need. 

He made a conscious effort to slow his breathing, which had sped up to near-hyperventilating levels. It was okay. Okay. Yes, everything was a-okay. What was the worst that could happen? Nonono definitely the wrong question. Maybe instead let’s go through the options. Alright.

1) Card. Boring, yes. But practical and easy, also yes. Likely reception: not sex. Or even a make-out session. Definite con there.

2) Flowers. Boring, still yes. Stereotypical? Oh god, they were the king of stereotypical. Likely reception: “Oh these are so nice, Dean. Let me go get a vase from the kitchen but really make a quick escape in order to hide my disappointment at your obvious lack of actual romantic knowledge and/or effort.” So no.

3) Chocolate. Not a good idea. Dangerous due to high likelihood of premature consumption by purchaser in a fit of stress and panic. 

4) Romantic dinner. Cliché but solid. Probability of favorable reaction: high, at least maybe after a couple of cups of wine. Also expensive. Damn it. 

5) Poetry. Ew, no. 

Dean couldn’t think of anything else. What did interesting people do on Valentine’s Day anyway? Knowing Cas, he would probably go to the art museum or something if he was on his own. Hey, that’s an idea! Wait, no, the last time Cas dragged Dean to the art museum he got really annoyed at all of his obnoxious whining that it was just paint and metal and plaster and he didn’t return his calls for a week. Definitely a no. 

What was there, then? Why did this have to be so hard? Cas was probably having no trouble with this right now. He had most likely already planned his whatever like a week ago, and was curled up in his favorite armchair (the one with the green stripes) reading Victorian literature and drinking tea. Why did he have to be so awesome? With his perpetual sex hair and the gorgeous magical wells of deep blue in his face that were probably doorways to another universe or maybe just universes themselves-

Okay, Dean, focus. 

6) Cat. No. Dean was allergic, and Cas would probably end up lovi-LIKING it more than him.

7) Toaster. Well, Cas’ was practically dead and always took forever and then there was like a 3-second period of time during which failure to take the bread out caused it to go from being barely toasted to inedible charcoal. But Cas insisted that it “had character,” just like the coffee maker that shocked you every fucking time you touched it and the big hole in the side of the couch that Dean sometimes hid chocolate in to eat later. So no on the toaster.

8) Renaissance suit of armor. Fucking cool, but Dean didn’t have the slightest clue how to go about obtaining one. 

ARGGGHH! Dean’s breaths were picking back up. At this point he would need a cup of tea to calm himself down, and he hated tea. 

Maybe he should just go look around at the Hallmark next to the grocery store or someplace and hope that he found something. Maybe inspiration was just waiting for the right moment to strike. Yes, it would come! Dean just needed to have faith.

Filled with new-found energy, he stepped into his shoes and grabbed his wallet and keys from the counter, shrugging on his jacket on the way out of the door.

The drive to the store seemed to last forever. Dean tried to listen to music, but it just added to the clamor inside his head and threatened to shatter his newfound outward calm. He stuck to humming quietly, which usually always worked. When he finally arrived, he sauntered inside, determined to keep his cool and wait for the Muse of Valentine’s Day to inspire him, for it surely would.

However, it seemed the odds were not at all in his favor.

As soon as he stepped through the glass doors, the sickly artificial scent of hundreds of chemically-sprayed flowers punched him in the face. His face grew gray and ashy as he took in the astoundingly overwhelming barrage of red and pink in front of him. This must be the tenth circle of Hell. Why could he not remember it ever being this bad? Had he experienced temporary blindness every Valentine’s Day for the past twenty-six years? 

Good god. How the fuck was anybody supposed to find or choose anything in this swirling vortex of roses and pansies and teddy bears and stuffed dogs and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate and square-shaped boxes of chocolate and fucking hexagonally-shaped boxes of chocolate?! This was too much.

Dean must have temporarily blacked out or shut down or something because the next thing he knew, he was bumping into something. Hard. Like the type of bumping into that leaves you with a bruise on your forehead and your stuff scattered all over the floor. Were those his ears ringing? 

“Fuck, sorry.” A gravelly voice penetrated the fuzziness. “Are you alright? Hey, I didn’t mean—Dean?? What are you doing here?”

Wait, what? Dean’s mind was apparently on a sabbatical because it took way too long for his eyes to travel from the sex hair to the hipster glasses to the tie to the blue eyes and—oh fuck—that was Cas standing in front of him. Cas, for whom he was supposed to be getting an offering which would prove his virility and desirability as a potential mate. Cas, who was the picture of competency in all things.

What was Cas doing in the Hallmark on the day before Valentine’s Day?

Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, heheh.” God, since when did he chuckle nervously? Oh well, just keep going. “Cas! What are you—I mean—fancy meeting you here! I just came, uh, ‘cause, y’know, it’s, um, my-my cousin’s birthday next week! And I, um, needed a card?” Why did that sound like a question? Since when was he so lame that he couldn’t charm and lie himself out of a sticky situation? There was no way Cas was buying this...

But Cas was silent. Why was he silent?

Dean chanced a quick glance up and was surprised to see that Cas looked just as awkward and nervous as he felt. There was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks that was just so adorable Dean almost needed to lick it off. Or at least nuzzle it a bit. But wait. Why was Cas nervous? There was no way that he could be doing the same thing as Dean and getting a last-minute present. He already had that all figured out, right? Weeks ago, right? Riiggghhhttt?

Cas wasn’t volunteering anything, so Dean had to say something. 

“Look, Cas-”

“DEAN!” The exclamation burst from Cas’ lips so suddenly that he himself jumped. Apparently it had not been planned. They both froze for a minute in shock, and then Cas began to ramble a mile a minute. “Dean I really wanted to do something special because this is our first Valentine’s Day together and you’re so special to me and I want to show you that but you’re also the most amazing man I’ve ever met and so brave and courageous and confident and how could I ever hope to measure up to whatever present you decided to get me and you would probably be disappointed in my inane present and never want to see me again and so I couldn’t do flowers or a card or anything because those are immensely cliché and I may have sort of panicked and called Gabriel but he made some extremely inappropriate suggestions and then hung up on me and I didn’t know what to do and I shouldn’t have left it to the last minute and I am such a terrible, terrible boyfriend, and-”

Dean placed his hand on Cas’ arm and he abruptly fell silent. They stared at each other for a moment, one’s face blushed and the other’s pale. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered. Silence fell again as they stared into each eyes. “You... we...do you think we’re,” he paused, “boyfriends?"  
If it was possible at that moment for Cas to blush any harder, he probably would have won some sort of prize. 

“Well, I mean, it has been a couple of months and...I really...really like you, Dean. You’re kind and generous, if a bit addicted to caffeine and chocolate, but we all have our faults, right? I myself am terribly grumpy in the mornings, and-”

And that was when Dean kissed Cas in the middle of the Hallmark on the day before Valentine’s Day, effectively shutting him up before he could dig himself into a deeper hole.

And it was marvelous. Like the last couple of days of panic and stress and anxiety had never existed and all there was were two pairs of lips and a tangling of tongues and hands sliding across shoulders and necks and hair under his fingertips, the softest hair Dean had ever felt in his life, and that was when he realized that he would do anything just to stay with this person, this beautiful man, for the rest of his life.

And that was the moment Dean Winchester realized that he was in love.

And the next day, when both men realized that they had no cards, no flowers, no chocolates to give to each other, no grand gestures of love or devotion, it was somehow okay. Suddenly, they didn’t need red stuffed dogs or heart-shaped coffee mugs to know that the other wasn’t leaving; that they, for the foreseeable future, had each other to curl against on the couch and to stare at affectionately as the early morning sun filtered through the curtains and to laugh with over stupid reality television shows and to lean on when they were having a bad day.

And they were happy.


End file.
